


Marked on the Flesh

by fourfreedoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean, before it all fell apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked on the Flesh

Sam’s always been darker than his brother. His skin is used to the touch of the sun and it browns rather than burns. Dean can’t stay still long enough, he’s probably never napped on a lawn with a book in his entire life. And he hates the beach. Sam likes the lazy stillness.

At Bobby’s there’s not a whole lot of ambiance, or shade, for that matter, but beggars can’t be choosers. Sam doesn’t mind lying on the bench seat of a wrecked convertible, He doesn’t mind that his legs spill over the door, or that the foam is spilling out the cracked leather. There’s a slight dry breeze, takes the edge off the heat. Sam is careful not to touch the rusted body of the car. The air shimmers and it’s so bright that when Sam closes his eyelids, he sees red.

“Marco,” Dean says, looming upside down over Sam.

Sam twitches his nose. “Polo,” he says softly.

Dean swings himself over the door into the driver’s seat. “Took me fuckin’ forever to find you.”

“I didn’t realize I had a babysitter,” Sam replies, eyes shut against the blue sky that goes on for miles.

“Pouty bitch.” Dean reaches over the seat and flicks Sam’s nose. Sam can nearly hear him smile. “How’s your book.”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Sam says snottily, shifting it off his chest.

Dean laughs. “That’s undoubtedly true.”

“What do you want?” Sam says, softening his voice so it doesn’t sound so antagonistic. He doesn’t have the energy for a fight.

“There’s this tower of cars at the back of the property, I think you can see at least thirty miles in every direction.”

Sam grumbles, he doesn’t want to get up. “Couldn’t be more, that’s as far as the eye can see.”

“Hoo, you’re in a mood,” Dean says, seemingly permanently good-natured. “Come on, I’ll help you sneak some of Bobby’s restricted books if you come.”

Sam sighs and pulls himself out of the belly of the car, following Dean through the fortress of broken-down vehicles. When they reach the tallest stack of cars, he looks at it dubiously. It doesn’t seem very well balanced.

Dean interprets his less-than-impressed face and says, “The axles are all rusted out and half of them don’t have wheels, they won’t roll off under our weight.”

“Been doing this a lot?” Sam says, watching his brother start scaling an old RX7. Dean’s using glassless windows as footholds, moving ever upward with spider-like grace. He turns to look back down at Sam and Sam knows what’s about to roll off his tongue. “All right, I’m coming. I’m not a chicken.”

He follows the route Dean picked out on his climb, trying to ignore how hot the steel frames are underneath his palms. When he gets to the second to last car in the stack, a once cherry-red Chevy Nova, the door groans and squeals under his weight, before dropping off the car with a horrible clank. Only Sam’s tight grip on the roof and Dean’s quick reflexes save him from the ground and a broken leg.

Dean laughs uproariously, Tugging Sam up so that he can get a foot on the hood and then scramble up on the roof. Sam’s heart beats too fast in his chest. “Fucktard,” he says, somewhat annoyed when it comes out affectionately.

Dean chuckles and Sam finally looks around, glancing over dry plains and interstates crisscrossing through farms. Clouds darken the horizon, signaling rain. The breeze washes over them again and Sam suddenly feels the itchy prickle of sweat over his eyes and on his upper lip. He pulls the hem of his t-shirt up to his face to wipe it off.

Dean watches, lips tilted into a not quite smile. He folds down to his knees, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the start of Sam’s happy trail.

“Dean!” Sam protests, “Anybody could see us!”

Dean hums and sucks hard, tongue sliding lower like a promise. Sam almost loses his resolve, considers letting Dean pull him down the dented roof and have his way with him practically on display to the whole world. Dean’s teeth sink into sensitive flesh just as his eyelids start to droop. Sam cries out and swats him back, dropping the hem of his shirt. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dean’s smile is blinding. “Just getting you back for those sunscreen palm prints.”

Sam backs away from him. “That was not my fault, you kept distracting me.”

“How hard is to put on sunscreen? I’m burned around the shape of _your_ hands and won’t be able to take my shirt off for a month.”

Sam snorts, thinking about it. “Sins marked onto the flesh.”

“Shut up and enjoy the view,” Dean says, getting back up onto his feet. “We are what we are, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head, but listens. The world seems so large and they seem so small. Nobody is there to watch this big wide open space but them.


End file.
